


Lover Come Hold Me (I don’t know who I am anymore)

by Ember2123



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post Season 2, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember2123/pseuds/Ember2123
Summary: Steve didn’t want to get out of bed.It was Monday morning, the sun had risen, and Steve should have been starting his car and leaving for school. But last week had been long- the weekend even longer- and he didn’t want to get out of bed. He's not handling anything from what happened- not the monsters or the near death experience either. His dreams made him relive it every night and nothing seemed to help anymore.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Kudos: 62





	Lover Come Hold Me (I don’t know who I am anymore)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I’m surprised I’m actually posting this story, I started writing it back in 2018. I wrote this whenever I was feeling sad, which is why it’s angsty as fuck so sorry about that, and never expected to really finish it but here it is. 
> 
> As for the TW, the self harm is fairly graphic and there is some disordered eating, but I didn't think it was enough to warrant a tag. Please be safe and take care of yourselves <3

Steve didn’t want to get out of bed.

It was Monday morning, the sun had risen, and Steve should have been starting his car and leaving for school. But last week had been long- the weekend even longer- and he didn’t want to get out of bed. 

He turned over, eyed the blinking red numbers of his alarm clock, and went back to sleep.

He dreamt about monsters. He always did. Scaly lizards with thousands of teeth that would sink deep if they got you. He dreamt about Dustin being eaten- Max’s bright orange hair clinging to the sides of a sewer grate. Their Dungeons and Dragons game collecting dust in the basement. 

He dreamt about watching them die- Nancy, Jonathan, Joyce, Hopper, and every single one of those kids. And after they died, he dreamt about kneeling over their graves. He could feel his knees hard on the ground, soil digging deeply into his cuticles as he blindly clawed through the dirt. Digging forever, time passing in the way it only can in dreams. He could feel the ghostly ache in his legs like he had been there for centuries. And then he hit something hard- something made out of thick plastic. He grabbed at it desperately and lifted it out of the ground. 

It was Mike’s walkie talkie.

He pressed the button and screamed into the speaker, but it was covered in mud. The thick brown gunk settled deep into the holes like it belonged. He used his nails to scrape it out- calling for help over and over until his voice grew hoarse. 

There was no one on the other side.

Steve woke up with a start- springing up in his bed and scrambling to grab at his sweat soaked sheets. It was always the same. It felt like he was falling- straight off a cliff and into the dark abyss. _Not dead- they’re not dead!_

Sweat poured from his forehead. He couldn’t stop thinking about those shallow graves. Those dead walkie talkies. He didn’t want to think.

He needed to stop panicking because his heart was fluttering inside his chest and he couldn’t catch his breath and it made his dreams feel all the more real. Stilted eyes with no life behind them. He needed it to stop. He struggled out of bed and towards his desk. His shaky hands cradled the bottom drawer and he pulled it open. A small inconspicuous bag was shoved deep into the corner and he grasped it within his fist.

He wondered what Billy would say if he saw him. Hell, Billy knew now. That’s how Steve had gotten into this whole mess in the first place. Billy had seen them. He shook his head until the memories fell out. He wanted to go back to sleep. 

He stumbled towards the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. It didn’t really matter- no one was home and they weren’t likely to be in the next few weeks. He pulled an old razor blade out from the baggie and tossed it onto the counter. He held himself up on the granite and looked into the mirror. He hadn’t bothered in a while- couldn’t even remember a time when he last wanted to. It would have been before Nancy. Before the monsters. Back when he teased his hair and cared what he looked like. 

Back when there was life still shining back at him. 

He almost didn’t recognize himself. His face was pale and gaunt, more so than when he used to play basketball. It wasn’t the kind of thin that came from sports, but the kind from constant nausea and anxiety that had taken home where hunger used to live. There were bags under his eyes, dark and deep. Sweat clung to his forehead. He lifted his heavy hand and touched the glass. He would have thrown a fist into his reflection if he wasn’t so goddamn tired. 

He pushed away from the counter, grabbed his blade, and pulled his pants down to his thighs. His knuckles were white around the metal- he didn’t want to think.

He pulled the edge across his thigh- the razor ripping at his flesh. Cut after cut. He didn’t think, couldn’t think, wouldn’t think anymore because he couldn’t surface as his thoughts pulled him under. Every cut allowed him to breathe a little lighter, even when his chest was heavy like concrete. Every new scar brought clarity with it (he felt so empty).

He watched the blood rise, staining the pink skin red. He let the blade slip from his palm and onto the floor. It clattered and then fell quiet. Everything was quiet- except for his ragged breathing. He backed up against the far wall and sunk down to the ground. He could finally breathe.

He had been doing this since he first discovered those monsters- nearly a year ago now. He had gotten it under control and then the monsters came back and everything fell apart. Maybe he never did have it under control. Maybe it was just another lie he was telling himself like, “Nancy loves you”. But it hardly mattered now because he was cutting twice a day and he could barely force himself out of bed anymore. He blamed the monsters (he blamed himself) and now he was in a puddle on the ground. At least his head was blissfully clear.

Steve knew that this wasn’t a solution. The memories were never going to disappear no matter how many cuts he made. He was never going to forget those monsters. Their massive reptilian bodies hanging over him, teeth bared and saliva dripping onto his face in long clear ropes. This wouldn’t let him forget just how close his life had been from slipping away. A brush away from death and emptiness and darkness forever. He knew it was stupid, but he was so desperate to get some fucking sleep (he would do anything). 

Steve pressed his thumb into one of the longer cuts and groaned as the skin tore open. It didn’t even matter. His leg was already a mess of knotted and scarred flesh from more cuts and burns than he could even count.

No one was supposed to find out.

He let the peace settle over him and closed his eyes. He fell asleep right there on the bathroom floor. He didn’t dream this time.

The afternoon sun woke him- the bright light peeking through the shades on the small window above him. He picked his head up and looked around. He was alone (he was always alone). He stretched his muscles and winced as one of the cuts tore open again. The blood had dried onto his skin and it made Steve feel nauseous. He slowly picked himself up and stripped off the rest of his clothes. He turned the shower on and hot water poured as he got in. A stream of pink ran down his legs.

He always cut the closest places his fingers and blades could reach, barring his wrists where his bright blue veins were too loud and scary for Steve to tempt fate like that. He didn’t want to die, he just wanted some peace. 

His skin turned red under the scalding hot water, making it easier to see the older scars that spidered across his chest and stomach and thighs. They weren't everywhere. His back, his arms, the length of his legs were all clean from his destruction- smooth pale skin that he wished Billy would have seen when he stripped his shirt off that night. He remembers Billy’s hands pulling at the hem and Steve being too distracted by the heat of the other boy on top of him. He didn’t even remember the scars until his shirt was off and Billy’s hands were suddenly still on top of him. Until his eyes were wide with confusion and fear.

No one had seen them before- not even Nancy. Steve had made sure of it. He didn’t need anyone, especially her, carting him off to see a shrink. He stopped showering after basketball once the scars became too hard to hide or brush off. Sometimes, the cuts reopened when Billy knocked him down on the court. 

Billy used to tell Steve how much he missed watching him shower after practice- but he wouldn’t say that anymore.

Billy had been surprising. They had gone from being rivals to something like friends. And then they were something more, something that Steve couldn’t have guessed at for either of them. Everytime they kissed, there was a warm feeling in his chest and it was so different to that cold loneliness he felt all the time. 

Steve didn’t push him away- not in the locker room after practice or later in Billy’s car or even after that when Billy took him out to the diner. It was nice and easy with Billy. They didn’t talk about labels or plans or the future. They didn’t talk about tomorrow or even next week. Steve just told him where he hid the house key and to come by whenever he wanted to. To that lonely house where Steve was cold and sick all the time. And Billy did. He brought with him enough warmth to keep Steve away from the bathroom and that inconspicuous bag that he kept shoved in the back of his desk. 

He didn’t push Billy away except for when his hands started to drift under Steve’s shirt. 

Steve was starting to realize that he wasn’t the only one with a secret. He wasn’t the only one who needed this thing between them- this thing that was more than a friendship but less than a relationship. Steve just couldn’t handle another rejection and he didn’t think that Billy could either. Steve was even starting to believe that Billy had bigger problems than his own- bigger than fear of the past at least. Sometimes Steve would touch him and Billy would flinch away. And not a single time did Steve ever take it as rejection- but fear of something else. 

Because sometimes Billy would show up in Steve’s living room with a split lip and a black eye. He always said that he got into fights, but his knuckles were never bruised. Steve didn’t know what it meant, but he knew that it was a secret. And secrets were not new to Steve. 

Steve poured some soap onto his washcloth and looked up at the ceiling tiles as he cleaned out each seeping cut. He hated seeing them, yet he could never stop thinking about it. Never stop touching them- as if the choppy skin acted as a salve to the pain in his heart. It used to help- but now it was becoming a hassle. 

They still kept the monsters away (but it seemed like they were keeping everyone away).

Steve can still feel the sting of cold air on his skin when Billy pulled away. He had been on top, pushing Steve onto the mattress with eager touches and strong thighs. He can still feel his eyes welling up with tears when he finally opened them and saw Billy just sitting there- staring at him wordlessly. Steve saw the look in his face- naked disgust staring back at him and he wanted to run. Just a second ago everything had been fine. A second ago Billy had wanted him.

He should have known.

He scrambled away from the bed, pushing Billy off of him, and ran into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut as sobs pulled him down to the ground. He looked at his body and wanted to scream. So many people have left him- from his parents to Nancy to his “friends” at school. Billy was the only one who had stuck around- he was the only person who loved him. And Steve knew that all that was over now. He was going to screw up his relationship with those kids next and then he was going to be completely alone. With the nightmares and the memories and the god awful scars. He racked his nails up and down his body and let the pain sink deep into his bones. He heard Billy collect his things and let himself out through the front door. 

Steve wearily turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. Water puddled uncomfortably at his feet and he wrapped a towel around himself. It was late afternoon- he had slept through most of the day. Even so, he just wanted to crawl back under the covers. The school had called hours ago, expecting a worried parent hanging over a flu ridden teenager. But Steve hadn’t seen his parents in weeks, and this wasn’t the kind of sickness that had a temperature and sore throat. He slipped on a shirt and pair of sweatpants, the soft cotton caressing his abused legs. 

Steve picked his cigarette pack off of his dresser. He thought that he should go downstairs to eat something, but he wasn’t hungry. He felt like his body was full of jitters, a consequential shake in his fingers that smoking might just distract him from. Anything was worth a shot. He was at the top of the stairs when he heard his front door open. Steve stilled, maybe his parents were home after all. But the door slammed shut just as fast and heavy footsteps were running through the hallway towards him.

Before Steve could do anything- he saw Billy at the bottom of the steps. Billy stopped short when their eyes met, relief spreading through his whole face as Steve tensed. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Billy began running up the stairs. Within a second, two strong arms wrapped around Steve and pulled him into the tightest hug that he had ever felt. Even tighter than Hopper’s arms that night they closed the gate. He melted into it. 

Billy had been disgusted, Billy had rejected him- but this didn’t feel like disgust or rejection. This felt like fear and relief and friendship and love. “I thought you were dead.” Billy said, his voice shaky on the edge of tears. Steve’s eyes widened and he tried to pull away to look into Billy’s face, but his arms were too tight around him. 

“Why would I be dead?” 

“Because you didn’t come to school today.” Billy dug his head into Steve’s shoulder and his voice was wet. “And after last night, I didn’t know what that meant.”

“You mean last night- when you looked at me like I was disgusting. When you left.” Steve recognized that he was mad, but having Billy shaking in his arms made it fizzle out completely. He was tired of being mad and scared, he just wanted Billy to keep holding him like this. Billy pulled back just enough for Steve to see his face but he didn’t move his arms, wouldn’t let him go.

“No no no,” He said, shaking his head profusely. “I didn’t think that- I don’t think that now either. I was just shocked and I didn’t expect it. And then you ran off and I knew I should have gone after you- but I was afraid. I didn’t want to make it worse. But I shouldn’t have left.”

“Oh-” Steve said and he could feel his face crumbling. He dug his head into Billy’s shoulder to hide the tears that he could feel coming. It was like Billy’s words had broken the dam and it was all rushing through. He wanted to say more, but he was taking stuttering breaths. “I- I wanted to ex-explain, but I didn’t know how. So I hid instead-” Steve tightened his arms around him and he could feel Billy’s hand rubbing his back. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Billy said, and he was being more gentle than Steve ever thought he was capable of. “But if you want to, I would listen.”

“I don’t want to kill myself. I know it doesn’t make sense but that's not what this is about.” Steve sniffled but continued. “And I want to tell you. I’ve never wanted to tell anyone before, but I think I do with you.” Billy nodded against him, but didn’t move until Steve did. “C’mon, I need to smoke.” Steve said, pulling away from Billy but grabbing his hand and dragging him towards his bedroom. Back to the same room where it had all gone wrong last night. 

Steve opened the window and grabbed his pack from his back pocket. He threw a cigarette at Billy and took one out for himself. He sat on the desk in front of his window and Billy took the chair in front of him. He lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. It didn’t stop the shake in his hands. He threw the lighter to Billy. Billy’s eyes tracked over him, landing where the scars hid right under his clothes. They burned under the attention. Steve tapped his smoke over his ashtray and he started to regret his last words. He didn’t even know where to start and he could feel himself begin to panic. Billy must have seen it on his face because he spoke first. 

“My dad hits me.” He said, taking a drag and looking up to Steve. The confession didn’t shock him like it would have months ago. It made sense in a horrible way, and it explained the bruises that Billy always seemed to have. “He started back when I was young. I used to think it was my fault, but I don’t think that anymore.”

“I’m sorry-” Steve started, because he didn’t know what he could say that would make it better but Billy just shook his head. He reached over and dug the rest of his cigarette out on the ashtray, even though there was still plenty of it left.

“Nah, that’s not why I told you.” He put his hands on top of Steve’s knee. “I know that shit gets fucked up. And when that happens and it doesn’t make sense, we do stupid crap to try to make it make sense. Sometimes the stuff my dad says gets stuck in my head, and I can’t stop thinking about it unless I start wailing on someone else.” Steve placed his free hand on top of Billy’s and squeezed. 

“A lot of shit got fucked up last year. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t even think I’m allowed to, but people got hurt. I almost died and it feels like I will never forget that feeling- like everytime I fall asleep I might not wake up again.” Steve used his shaky fingers to stub his cigarette out next to Billy’s. “It’s like I’m always on edge. Like those monsters could come back at any time and hurt my friends and I wouldn’t even know until it’s too late. And the… things that happened, the memories, they get so loud in my head. I can’t think, I can’t see, all I can feel is fucking terror and I would do anything to make it stop.”

“And cutting yourself makes it stop?” Billy asked and while Steve could tell he was being sincere, hearing it said out loud made him feel exposed. 

“Yeah, and it used to work.” Steve said and the admittance felt like a hole in his heart. Because it used to work really well, but it seemed to help less and less each day. He had to do more to feel the same relief and it was spiraling out of fucking control and it scared the shit out of him.

“What happens… when it doesn’t work?” Billy asked reluctantly, like he was afraid that he would break the fragile delicacy between them. Steve felt heat crawl up his throat at the immediate answer that came to mind. 

“I keep going until it does.” Steve’s voice was strangled and Billy’s eyes looked wet. 

“Do you think you could call me when things get bad? Just to talk before you do anything.” Steve immediately felt suffocated but he tried to push it down. Billy was asking because he cared. He wasn’t telling or forcing or giving ultimatums. 

“Billy, I-” Steve huffed out, trying to keep anger out of his voice because he wasn’t fighting right now, even if the adrenaline made it feel like that. “What about your dad? I thought I couldn’t call the house.”

“Fuck my dad, I can deal with him. If talking to me helps even a little then I want you to call.”

“I’m not your problem Billy. I don’t want you to get hurt because I can’t be alone with myself. You’re not gonna save me-” 

“I didn’t say that Steve, so stop putting words in my mouth.” Billy bit back angrily but then he stopped and took a deep breath. “Look, I can handle my dad. Don’t worry about that, I just want to help- try to at least.” 

“Why? Why are you doing this for me, why are you here?” Steve felt dizzy with all the questions he wanted to ask. He felt shame burn from where their hands touched and he pulled them away. “Billy- I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve-” Steve shut his mouth before he could say anything else. He felt stupid, and he felt guilty. No one was supposed to find out, no one was supposed to know how weak Steve was. Especially not Billy. And no one was supposed to try and _help_. He was gonna realize that Steve had nothing left to give, that he was empty- broken by memories that he couldn’t even explain. The pain made all the fear go away but it was punishment too. Because no one would hold him accountable for what he did, but the scars will always be a reminder to what he could never be again. 

“No- Steve, come on look at me,” Billy said, grabbing his hands again and squeezing hard. That's when he realized he had been saying all that shit out loud and he couldn’t breathe.

He drifted to where all the pain was hoarded inside of him. It was a dark familiar place- the graves, the dirt, the walkie talkie. Where Barbara’s dead eyes watched him dig and dig and he could hear demogorgan’s just beyond him in the distance. But Billy’s voice brought him out again, out of his daze and back into reality. “This is real.” He said strongly, no room to argue or misunderstand and Steve could do nothing but nod. 

Back to the desk and the window and their spent cigarettes in the ashtray. And as fast as it had started, it all seemed quiet again. Like sitting alone on the bathroom floor. Soaking up the chill of the tile under his palms and letting it numb him from the outside in. The razor slipping through his fingers. That emptiness spread every time he tore into himself, spread and spread until it consumed him. He could have had this the whole time, Billy’s hands in his, the warmth like a furnace burning out all the fear. 

“You know I’m not lying when I say I’m not a good person either. Hell, I’ve heard that from so many people- my dad, my teachers, everyone. All those voices tell me that I will never amount to anything, that I’ll never change. All that noise- but all I can do is try, yeah? I can sit here, with you right now, and I’m gonna fucking try to be a better person. Because that's all I can do, and I know that isn’t easy but Steve, you can’t beat yourself up forever.” Steve blinked slowly and looked up to Billy’s face. He nodded and he smiled weakly. “Wait- did I help?” Billy asked and Steve laughed wetly.

“Yeah, you actually did.” Steve said, his voice tight and heavy and he curled a hand around Billy’s face. “I won’t promise that I’ll stop, because I probably won’t. But I will come to you first and I do trust you.”

“That’s all I want baby.” Billy said and pulled him forward to kiss him. “You’re the best thing in this shit town. I realized that the minute I got here. I don’t want to lose you.” Billy stood up and pulled Steve onto his feet. “C’mon, you look like you're about ready to pass out.”

“I haven’t been sleeping,” Steve admitted and he let Billy push him onto his bed, the comforter soft as he fell onto it. 

“Or eating it looks like. We’ll take a nap and I’ll make you dinner.” Billy said, pulling off his jean jacket and kicking his boots to the floor. Steve opened his arms and Billy laughed as he fell into them. 

“Thank you Billy,” Steve said, his face in his hair hiding tears that he’s still not sure he will shed. Billy didn’t respond right away, just grabbed Steve’s hands in front of his chest and squeezed them tight. 

“Go to sleep,” He whispered and Steve did.


End file.
